She bit back an irrational yes! as defeat sluiced through her. "No. That wouldn’t help. I’d rather have justice than revenge, but if it’s not you, who is it? Who do I go after?"

"I believe I’ve agreed to give you the time to discover that before you begin working here full-time, Margrit." Another glint of amusement passed through Daisani’s eyes. "Am I being unreasonable?"

"Only in so far as you’re not letting me have my own way. Things in my world have changed. It seems like things in yours ought to change, too, to accommodate me." She lifted a hand, stopping anything he might say. "And I guess you have, giving me time to follow up on this. It’s just…"

"I do understand," Daisani said mildly. "But you don’t get to be in my position by being accommodating, I’m afraid. You offered a deal. I accepted it. You’ve cited being a turncoat to Legal Aid as your reason to welsh on our agreement now, but I suspect the real problem is that having given your word, you’re reluctant to go back on it even if you have good reasons."

"That and there’s an actual possibility you’ll bite my head off if I refuse. That’s less of a problem in the real world."

"You’re afraid of disappointing me."

"Literally afraid. Not nervous or worried, but afraid. Because I don’t know which way you’ll jump." Margrit scowled at the vampire. Admitting fear seemed like a bad idea, but frustration with the situation overrode her caution, pushing her to the truth. "If you were human, I’d expect you to make it hard, maybe impossible, for me to find another job if I wanted to leave Legal Aid. But you’re not, and I don’t know what the hell you do when people disappoint you. I have a pretty good idea of what Janx does, in a mob boss kind of way, and I don’t want to risk that, either."

"The obvious solution is to not disappoint me."

Margrit’s scowl deepened. "Well, it doesn’t look like I’m going to, does it? Some kind of overdeveloped sense of responsibility made me step up to the plate when I walked in here today. The rest of it is just me making noise." She sighed and dropped her chin to her chest, both grumpy and relieved at the admission. "Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly. Whether I respond or not…."

"Yeah." Margrit looked up. "Why didn’t Janx stop shunting people to Legal Aid and hire a lawyer of his own instead? He must’ve known Russell was doing your evil bidding."

Daisani straightened, clearly caught between offense and amusement. "My evil bidding?"

"Come on, you were manipulating the legal system to your own ends, and I’m a lawyer. What else would I call it?"

"Capitalism at its finest, perhaps. You’d have to ask Janx, Margrit. He rarely pays out for his men when they get into trouble. It keeps the connections between them more tenuous. I suppose he may have found a degree of pleasure in keeping one of my people running laps around several of his, as well, but I’m the wrong person to ask."

Margrit sighed. "I guess so. I’m just tired of chasing all over hell’s half acre for answers." She groaned as she looked at the time. "And it’s almost four. I’ve blown most of the day. Again. When I come to work for you I want a twenty hour a week schedule if I’m going to be dealing with your esoteric factions all the time. Otherwise I’ll feel guilty at never being in the office."

"I think I can assure you that any time spent out of the office dealing with esoteric factions will not be held against you with an eye toward a completion of more mundane tasks. You’ll be my personal assistant. We can always hire another one for you."

"Oh, well, hell." Margrit raised her hands in acquiescence. "If I’m going to be somebody’s boss, I want my salary doubled. I’ll see you at Rockefeller Center tonight, Mr. Daisani. I’m going to go home and try to be normal for a while."

"Cam?" Cole’s greeting came from the kitchen over the sound of food sizzling. "You’re early."

Margrit took a deep breath of the rich peppery scent and collapsed against the door with a contented sigh. "No, it’s the other woman in your life. The dusky-skinned beauty, remember? Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious."

"Garlic, onions and butter. A healthy evening meal." Cole appeared in the kitchen doorway, grinning. "The only dusky beauty I ever dated turned out to be just-friends material. Dating was a disaster. Like dating my sister."

"Cole Grierson, are you telling me you’ve dated your sister?" Margrit threw her coat over a hook and toed her shoes off, padding to her bedroom. "Because I think that’s illegal even in Louisiana, and you’re from San Francisco."

"My disgusting childhood secrets are out," Cole called, then sobered as he asked, "How was work?"

Margrit tugged running pants on under her skirt and lifted her voice to answer, "It sucked. A lot of people were out and everybody who wasn’t was walking on eggshells. I was actually out about half the day." She’d returned to work to find it moribund, no one speaking any more than necessary, and she’d felt no guilt at leaving as quickly as she could. She finished changing clothes and pulled running shoes on before heading for the kitchen. "I spent a lot of time talking to Eliseo Daisani today."

Cole turned to look at her, poorly restrained curiosity in his expression. Margrit managed a weak smile. "I think I’m going to take the job."

"Whoo." Cole turned the burner off and folded his arms across his chest. "You sure about this? I don’t want to rain on your parade, but they say not to make big decisions right after something awful’s happened. Have you talked to your parents? Or Tony?"

"Not really. Not about the job. And you’re right." Margrit rubbed her hands over her face. "About big decisions, I mean. I still think I could do a lot of good in the public sector, but there are things going on with his corporation that I can make a real difference in." She offered a tentative smile. "Bleeding heart liberal in charge of their charitable resource funds, you know?" The grain of truth there made it bearable to say, but explaining the aspect of Daisani’s world that Margrit thought she might really make a difference in was impossible. "It could give me the groundwork and connections to do something else in five years. Maybe stop trying to fix the legal system from the inside, and focus on save-the-world organizations instead. I think it’s…" She swallowed, trying to taste the veracity of her own words. "I think it’s the right choice."

Cole puffed out his cheeks, then stepped forward to offer her a hug. "In that case, congrats. When’re we moving to Park Avenue?"

Margrit tilted her nose in the air. "Oh, I don’t know. I may have to audition other people to be my chef. I might find someone better, you know. Agh !" She laughed and stumbled as Cole pretended to shove her. "If I promise to be back at the house by six-fifteen will you make me some of whatever that wonderful-smelling stuff is going to be?"

"Not if you’re going to be threatening my station as house chef, I won’t. Oh, all right, no fair with the puppy-dog eyes. In honor of your new job, yes. But if you’re going to be home at decent hours, I’m going to make you start doing your share of the cooking." Cole lifted an eyebrow in warning and Margrit cowered, then put on her best stern lawyer face.

"You don’t tell Cam she has to cook."

"Cam’s culinary skills are limited to hard-boiling eggs and peeling potatoes. I know this from bitter experience. You, however, claim to just be too lazy to cook."

"It’s true. Tell you what, I’ll make dinner next week. If I do a bad enough job, I’m permanently off kitchen duty, right?"

"You’re a perfectionist," Cole said serenely. "If you cook dinner I don’t think your work code will let you do badly if you’re capable of doing well."

"Eliseo said that to me, too. Do I have it tattooed on my forehead, or something?"